


Don't Do That

by adrift_me



Series: Old Light, New Light [7]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Guardian Almost Dies, M/M, Prompt Fill, TW: burning, but not very detailed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28836117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: “Crow?” the Guardian whispers, and he looks at them. Their hand reaches for his, and he grasps at it gently, avoiding the blistering burns. “It happens sometimes. The dying part.”The Guardian almost dies, and Crow is not ready to lose someone so dear.
Relationships: Guardian/Crow, Guardian/Uldren Sov
Series: Old Light, New Light [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090106
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Don't Do That

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This fic is a prompt fill from tumblr, I was asked to write Guardian almost dying and Crow's reaction to it, a fair amount of angst and followed by fluff!
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :) I also take prompts!](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/)

Ashes, like acidic fireflies, fill the air. Crow coughs, dust and smoke in his lungs. Poisoned ether still coats the ground with its blue atrocity, and flames burn it out like oil. Too dangerous to lay out the Guardian here, but Crow simply must know if there is still heartbeat under that shell of armor.

“Ghost?” he calls out, and Glint beside him puffs into a sphere of light, searching for its friend. It may only be seconds, but for Crow it is a whole eternity as he touches the Guardian’s lifeless body. “No, no, no. Don’t do that…”

A sound as loud as a gun. But sweeter than bird song. Guardian’s cough and breathe, rasp and sharp. Their chest rising, and their heart oh so beating. And eyes looking up as Crow frees them from their helmet. Glint bobs excitedly in the air.

“He is there!” he points a laser, and Crow throws himself at the wreckage, throwing aside chunks of metal and stone, until he finds the Ghost, wriggling light in its shell. The metal frame is chipped and burnt and scratched, but the core wriggles and light quietly recovers within it. The Ghost says nothing, much against its nature, and Crow lets it rest on the Guardian’s chest.

“Don’t do that again,” Crow says. His voice, both soft and stern, balances on a dangerous decision of how much of his true feelings he wants to betray.

The Guardian reaches to touch Ghost’s shell, but groans in pain, too weak, too hurt to do more than merely lie on the ground. The voice is still there, however, even if used so rarely.

“Don’t do what? Fight the Scorn?”

“Dying. Don’t do that again,” the Crow explains, emotional edge cutting through his voice. “Please.”

The ruin is quiet. Crow wishes for somewhere else to rest his gaze or for noise to fill his ears, because images of the Guardian, engulfed in dangerous flames, coated in explosive ether, what would be desperate gaze, hidden under the helmet, keep flashing through Crow’s mind. He was too far, he was too late, and he carried their body out in conviction of their first and only true friend’s death. Worse, he never quite told them what he was feeling. He held a hero in his arms, and a hope for a lover.

“Crow?” the Guardian whispers, and he looks at them. Their hand reaches for his, and he grasps at it gently, avoiding the blistering burns. “It happens sometimes. The dying part.”

Crow knows that. He and the Guardian have died some time ago, too.

“But damn if it is the Scorn that either of us will die to. Not this time.”

Crow smiles. A stone, no, a boulder of pressure falls off his heart, and relief soothes him as the Guardian gifts him a rare smile.

“And leave the confession for when I can actually kiss you, would you?” the Guardian adds, burning blush into Crow’s cheeks with their words.

“I think I can wait,” he agrees, and joins the Guardian’s quiet laughter as Ghost tries to curl in on its shell from the utterly ridiculous conversation it is experiencing.

Today they live. And their light burns strong.


End file.
